The Stars Blindly Run
by The Silver Feathered Raven
Summary: They went into the Deep Roads with all the expectations of those seeking treasure and riches. But what they did not expect were the things they both lost and found there. Eventual F!Hawke/Anders
1. Into the Deep

A/N: This was originally posted over on my livejournal and is currently a work in progress. There's going to be heavy emphasis on character interactions in this - meaning it's not just straight up romance, and more than just Anders and Hawke will be focused on in this. I have plans to write into the timeskip between Act 1 and Act 2 after finishing up with the Deep Roads.

Also, it should be noted that there will be references to a Surana, an Amell, and a Warden-Commander Tabris in this. For the purposes of this story, Surana and Amell both knew Anders during his time at the Circle, though neither of them became the Hero of Ferelden.

While it is not mentioned much in this chapter, Hawke will be mentioned or called by her first name from time to time. As such, I have named her Ismat.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Hawke is standing in his clinic's doorway again, just sort of hanging there with one hand resting lightly on the rotting wood of the door.

He ignores her for awhile, because he has _work_ to do. Besides, she normally shows up to either drag him off on some inane quest or to chatter his ear off, both of which are distracting and _not_ conducive to healing the sick and injured of Kirkwall.

To her credit, she doesn't actually start trying to get his attention until _after_ he has finished with the last few patients of the day. At least, she doesn't _try_ to get his attention, but she is a bit distracting in the sense that she keeps wavering about at the front of his clinic and it's a little hard _not_ to notice her.

"It's not like you to keep quiet for so long," he says in way of greeting and she makes a face at him.

"I _do_ actually know when not to distract someone. Like when someone is trying to...fix whatever you were just fixing." She waves a hand before her in a swishing motion that is probably supposed to suggest a healing spell.

"Infected dog bite," he says as he heats the water in a cracked and stained basin beside him until it boils, and then cooling it with ice before washing flecks of blood off his hands. Hawke wrinkles her nose in distaste, and he assumes it's at the mention of the injury because his clinic is very clean for being in Darktown, _thank you very much._

"That does not sound pleasant."

"Not really." She _is_ eying the water, and that's when he remembers that she doesn't use fire or ice magic and has probably never seen that particular trick for making sure water isn't terribly contaminated.. "Did you come here for something?"

"Well, I have this terrible burning rash..." she says and then _grins_ at the look on his face. "I'm _joking_, Anders. Isabela's the one with the rash. _Anyway_, I'm here for _two_ reasons." She holds up two fingers as she speaks; he's always intrigued by just how many gestures she can make during a single conversation. "_One_, Varric told me to tell _you_ that he's buying drinks for everyone at the Hanged Man again tonight and that you should come. Oh, and that if you don't show up he's going to come down here and make you eat because you're getting too skinny again and he's buying dinner, too."

"What?"

She shrugs. "That's what he said. I may have embellished the _slightest_ bit. And cut out at least three uses of the name 'Blondie'."

Anders shakes his head slowly. He doesn't even want to try to figure out which bits are her embellishments – the dwarf does enough of that in general. "Okay, dinner. I can do that. Why didn't he come down here and talk to me himself?"

"Well, that's where my other reason sort of comes into play." The amused smile that has been playing on her lips for the past moments slides away and leaves an expression that contains a far greater amount of trepidation. "I have something to ask you."

It's probably for his help on another _quest_ for gold. She's been saving money for as long as he's known her, doing any job that will put just a little bit more silver in her pockets. And since she _cannot_ heal – _that was Bethany's thing_, she had told him once, _I took after dad with the sparky electricity stuff_ – he's more often than not coerced into coming along.

Justice was not a huge fan of this at first, but she _was_ a mage and she _had_ helped him – even if that had gone _terribly_ and had nearly torn his heart in two – and she _did_ try to help apostates as often as she could, so eventually the spirit had settled into a sort of mildly disapproving presence in the back of his mind.

"Well?" he finally has to say, because she just keeps standing there in a silence, chewing on her bottom lip. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Ah," she starts, stalls, bites her lip again. "I guess everyone is going to know this soon enough anyway, but I managed to get enough money together for the expedition. And Varric and I have let Bartrand know that we've got an entrance into the Deep Roads, so we're heading out next week if everything goes as planned, and I was wondering-"

_Oh_.

Oh, _shit_.

"No," he says harshly, not even waiting for her to finish speaking. "I won't do it."

"I hadn't even finished asking you!"

There is no _way_ he'll be going down there again. "You were going to ask me if I would go with you."

Hawke shifts a bit in place, looking a little awkward and a little frustrated, and maybe a little upset. "Well, _yes_. You're the only warden I know and-"

"_No_." It's only when she takes a half step backward that he realizes that Justice has begun to bleed out – he should be _used_ to this by now, how the more irritated he gets the harder it is to control – and his shoulders slump slightly as he raises a hand to shield his eyes, breathing as calmly as he can.

"All right," she says. "Okay. I'm sorry I asked."

_Sorry I started glowing_, he thinks of saying, but doesn't. He's apologized for that multiple times now.

It's a wonder that Hawke hasn't run screaming or started permanently avoiding his clinic by now.

"Just...forget I ever said anything." Hawke runs a hand through her hair nervously, not looking at him. They spend the next few moments not looking at one another, him searching awkwardly for something to say, her being far too quiet for her normally loud self.

"You should still come to the Hanged Man," she finally says. "I wouldn't underestimate Varric. He'll find a way to get you there regardless of whether you want to show up or not."

Anders gives a small laugh. "Like sending distracting apostates to drag me out of my clinic?"

Hawke looks at him and smiles. "Something like that."

* * *

><p>The problem isn't that he doesn't want to go to the Deep Roads. The <em>problem<em> is that, ever since Hawke brought them up, he cannot stop thinking about them.

His first experience with the Deep Roads had _also_ been his first experience with those nasty insect-like darkspawn who had kept trying to chew off the Warden-Commander's face. He'd been rather lucky to have been hanging towards the back of the group during that first run in, but by the time they had gotten out of Kal'Hirol he had been gnawed on several times. And that wasn't even mentioning the stale air, the overabundance of raw lyrium that had made his magic so sensitive that even a healing spell would end up being too powerful, and the constant pull of darkspawn at the edge of his thoughts.

It had not been a pleasant experience, and it was one that he had repeated far too many times since then – granted, the latter trips had _not_ involved the Mother's blighted _Children_.

And he would have been perfectly happy to _never_ go there again, except now he has a _friend_ – _and isn't that odd, she's somehow become a _friend_ that he desperately doesn't want to lose_ – going down there _without_ a warden and with _no_ way of knowing if darkspawn were hiding right around the corner.

So he thinks and argues with himself – and with Justice, who's disapproval at the simple _idea_ of this whole thing is incredibly evident – and spends the better part of two days being half distracted before he finally makes up his mind.

It doesn't take long to get to Lowtown, and even in the evening light it is easy to find her home. He's been there a few times, normally after one run in with mercenaries or another when they all needed patching up, and once because that dog of hers had eaten something odd and she had panicked and then assumed that he knew something about healing dogs.

He'd held off on telling her that he was a cat person, _thank you very much_, and that dogs were far too slobbery for his taste, but she had been so terribly worried about the mabari that he had held his tongue. And the dog hadn't actually be _ill_, just, well, _sick_, in the sense that there had been a fair amount of clean up afterward and Hawke had been terribly apologetic after she'd stopped being so worried.

He pauses on the stairs, hesitating yet again. He is so completely uncertain of his decision – they both are, the like minds of Justice and Anders uncertain of how this could possibly apply to the greater picture.

_She is a mage_, he thinks. _She is a good person. She is a paragon of what a mage should be, and if she stays safe and continues to help us, then it will aid the cause_.

It is a weak argument, to say the least, but it is enough to ease at least a little of the doubt and allows him to complete the last few steps up to the door. And then he pauses even _longer_ before he raises a hand and knocks.

It takes a moment, but eventually the door opens, and, to his chagrin, it is Carver, and his appearance is enough for doubt and irritation to well up and he nearly calls this entire thing up.

Justice does not like Carver, and thus Anders does not like Carver all that much. But Carver is Hawke's _brother_, and Hawke is..._important_, and so he tries to be civil around the younger man as much as possible.

And he used to be that age and was probably quite a handful himself, so he might be able to understand at least a _little_ about the boy. But that understanding is tempered by Justice not understanding _at all_.

"What are you doing here?" Carver says, the door only partway open, and the boy standing in such a way that Anders gets the very strong impression that he is _not_ welcome inside.

"I'm looking for Hawke," he says.

"Of course you are." Carver is glowering at him, which is not at all unusual. "Well, she's not here."

"Could you...tell her that I came by?"

"You can tell her yourself. She's probably at the Hanged Man with Isabela."

* * *

><p>Hawke is a funny drunk. This is something that Isabela has discovered over the past few months, and its brought her no small measure of amusement. Granted, Hawke isn't the 'half a pint and then completely gone' sort, but when she finally does get enough alcohol in her she turns into a giggling, babbling mess who apologizes far too much. Granted, neither of them is drunk right at the moment, but that doesn't mean they're not trying.<p>

"The _point_," Hawke is saying, half sprawled over the bench and gesturing with wild, fluid motions, "is that I'm not so good with the _stabbity-stabbity kill_ thing. That's _your_ thing. I just make things explode."

"Mmm, and you're rather good at that." Isabela is not as tipsy as Hawke, but she is _definitely_ getting there.

Hawke giggles. "Of course! Electricity is good at making things explode, if you know how to make it do its explode-y thing!"

"Hawke, that was the most redundantly pointless thing you have said all night. Even more pointless than '_they are trying to kill us, let's stab them!' _Which was pretty pointless."

Hawke exhales sharply, blowing strands of hair away from her eyes. "Sorry, should I have said '_they're trying to kill us, don't stab them, they're such nice people'?_ 'cause _that_ would be kind of stupid." She frowns. "Besides, it's not like we could have _talked_ our way out. How many times has that actually worked for us?"

"Three times," Isabela says without hesitation. "I've been keeping count. And one of those wasn't really because we _talked_ our way out, it was because Fenris stuck his hand through that mage's chest and scared the _crap_ out of everyone. And then we killed them anyway."

"They were _slavers_," Hawke says, with far more emphasis than necessary on the last word. "I think. Was that the slaving incident? There are a lot of those. And Fenris does that – what do you call it? - magical hand thing-"

"Magical _fisting_, sweet thing. Magical fisting."

"_Right_." Hawke picks up her drink, swallows down a mouthful, and makes a face. "Ergh. This is _terrible_. Why do I let you drag me out drinking?"

"Because it's _fun_. And you need a bit more fun in your." Isabela snags Hawke drink from her hand and sips at it. "All right, that _is_ terrible."

"I told you." She sticks her tongue out at her in a terribly childish expression, and then a moment later she sees something past Isabela and her eyes go wide. "_Oh_."

"Oh?" parrots Isabela, twisting around in her seat to see what Hawke is looking at. And then she sees _who_ it is and turns back to Hawke with a rather wicked smile on her face. "_Oh_, indeed."

"Shut up, Isabela," Hawke says, pulling her mug back over to her and taking a determined drink. "We are _not_ talking about this."

"We are _so_ talking about this."

"_Isabela_."

"_Ismat_," she mocks back, and then the ever so fun teasing it cut short by the appearance of the exact person that she was _dying_ to pester Hawke about.

"Hawke," Anders says, looking between the two of them and the empty mugs that once held alcohol and looking not at all surprised.

"Anders!" Isabela is _quite_ certain that Hawke has gone a bit red and that is utterly _adorable_. Oh, she is certain this is going to be fun. She _hopes_ it will be fun, at least. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight! Hoping not to. I mean, uh, hoping that we wouldn't _need_ to. Um. We were out fighting Coterie?" Hawke gives a very sheepish smile and then hides her face behind her drink.

_Oh_, but this is _precious_.

"I can see that." Anders gives them a _look_, which was rather like the look the bartender gave the two blood splattered women when they had first entered the Hanged Man. "How _did_ you manage to get covered in so much blood?"

"Hawke here is _very_ good at making things explode," Isabela says with a wicked smile on her lips. "She's as good at electricity spells as you are."

It is _so_ worth it, just to see the two of them go red. Well, mildly pink, at least.

"_Right_," says Anders, looking none to pleased – which is unfair. It wasn't like he had nothing to do with that particular bit of information about him becoming public knowledge among Hawke's companions. "_Not_ what I came here to talk about."

"Yes, let's talk about something _else_," Hawke says desperately, still hiding as best she can behind her drink. "Like _cake_. Cake is delicious. I should shut up now."

Anders' eyebrows draw together in concern. "Maybe I should wait until you're a little less...drunk."

"Oh, she's not drunk _yet_. Besides," she continues, waving a hand in front of her, "can't you just magic away the alcohol?"

"No."

"That would be a useful spell, though," Hawke muses, looking thoughtfully at Anders with her head tipped to the side. "Just wiggle your fingers and _poof_, no more wobbly alcohol feeling! And then you could drink more!"

"And then you'd drink too much and kill yourself, because I can't actually remove the alcohol, just the 'wobbly alcohol feeling'."

"Shame," Hawke says. "You were going to tell me something? What sort of something? Is it a surprise? Surprises tend to not go well with me. Sorry, I'm babbling too much. I'll shut up now."

"It's...I wanted to talk to you about the Deep Roads."

Hawke frowns. "Well, _I_ don't want to talk about the Deep Roads. I don't even want to _think_ about the Deep Roads. Stupid Deep Roads and their stupid darkspawn. I don't even want to go on the expedition."

"Who in their right mind does?" Isabela asks as she tips back the last of her drink. She eyes the empty mug. "Right. More ale." She gets up and is just the _slightest_ bit unsteady on her feet.

In retrospect, she shouldn't have gone over to the bartender to get a refill on her drink. Because when she gets back Hawke's eyes are as large as she has ever seen them and Isabela knows that she has missed something _very important_.

"Oh," Hawke is saying, shock written clearly all over her face. "Yes. Of course. I'll...Varric has all the details, but I think we're leaving next week. I just...I'm sorry, I – this definitely falls into the category of surprises. But it's a good surprise."

"I'm...glad," says Anders, and _dammit_, she missed _something_. "I should go and leave you two to your drinking."

"Or you could _stay_ and drink _with_ us," Isabela tries, but it's rather useless. The mage doesn't drink, something about the spirit thing in his head.

"Another time, Isabela," he says, and then he's gone. Hawke's eyes follow him as he heads out the door.

"He said he's coming with us," Hawke says somewhat distantly, before Isabela can even ask what had just happened. "He's going to come with me to the Deep Roads."

"Several weeks underground with our resident healer?" Isabela makes a little sound of amusement as looks at Hawke's still shocked face. "_This_ you're going to have to tell me about."

* * *

><p>It becomes immediately apparent that their path into the Deep Roads has not been used in centuries. It is hard enough to get into and requires more time clearing rubble than they would have like, but an untouched entrance means untouched treasure, or so Bartrand kept saying.<p>

But their path is dark, any dwarven ingenuity that might have lit it having long since broken down, and so they are wreathed in an oppressive darkness that threatens to suffocate. Their air is stale and old, smelling of decay and mold, and water drops from the ceiling to splatter at their feet.

They carry torches, some lit, others bound tightly to the packs they carry, none certain when there will be light in the depths. Anders, himself, helps to keep them lit, and more often than not conjures fire to his fingertips when a torch falters and dies.

Hawke walks before him, beside her brother, little fairy lights of electricity dancing in the air around her as she walks. The blue glow casts odd shadows around them, stretching out their forms until they disappear into the black around them.

It is a dull sensation now, but he can already feel the pull of the darkspawn taint within his blood. It is a quiet thing, barely there, but it is enough to make his skin itch and to set hims nerves on edge.

He is already regretting this.

But there is a curiosity that stirs within his mind, and he knows that it is Justice – Justice, who he had not even met when Anders had followed the Warden-Commander into Kal'Hirol and who has never been in the Deep Roads before.

They might share a body, but there is still enough difference between their minds. And this curiosity is so like his old friend that Anders feels something like hope for the first time in awhile, and even the pull of the darkspawn is not so bad.

Granted, these the the Deep Roads, and that means _something_ will go wrong. He just hopes there aren't any giant insect-like things this time around. Well, giant insect darkspawn. He can deal with giant spiders. Sort of.

Kal'Hirol had not been fun, this he remembers clearly. It had been lighter than this, though, and the descent into the deep had not been so steep or treacherous. And Nathaniel had been there, with his perpetual scowl, and Oghren with his stench of alcohol and lewd comments, and they had met Sigrun who had asked him to demonstrate his magic over and over and _over_, and the Warden-Commander had actually _smiled_, a rarity that he hadn't understood at the time-

There is a swell of regret and longing within him, and the emotion is not just his own. Justice misses them as well.

_We will never see them again_, he thinks, and there is bitterness in that thought.

"You're awfully quiet there, blondie," Varric says from his side, and Anders tears his eyes away from the lights that bounce around Hawke's head. "Got something on your mind?"

"Yes. I'm just wondering how long before the darkspawn jump out of the shadows and decide to eat us for dinner." But he says it lightly; there are no darkspawn near, none close enough to be a threat. Hopefully, they will have days without running into them.

Varric laughs. "Well, I don't know about you, but I would make a _terrible_ meal."

"I've been told dwarves make for bad cooking," Anders muses. "Must be all that ale. Makes them highly flammable. If we ever end up in a life or death situation and end up needing to eat each other to survive, you'll be the last to go."

Justice grumbles in his head, not finding this funny. Anders tries to ignore him.

"Are you two _seriously_ discussing eating dwarves?" Hawke asks, turning her head to look back at them. The magic lights sputter and cast odd shadows across her face. She's practically swathed in darkness.

"What else is there to discuss during an expedition into darkspawn infested depths?" Varric asks. Anders cannot see his face clearly, but he knows the exact expression that would be there. "Besides, we're not just discussing the finer points of eating dwarves, but the exact eating order in case we're forced into cannibalism."

Hawke laughs. "You are ridiculous, Varric. What would I ever do without you?"

The pathway takes a steep turn downward before long, ruined steps becoming more of a hazard than a help. They go in turns, long lines of lights before them as the torches are carefully carried downward.

He follows Hawke down the broken stairs, hearing her quiet curses as she tries to find decent footing. Carver calls warnings to her as he tries to pick the safest path and Anders listens to their seemingly lighthearted banter, though there is an undercurrent of tension between the two, a harshness that has grown over the months that he has known both of them.

There is a patch where the stairs have completely crumbled away and only rubble remains. It is here that Hawke missteps, the magical lights she has conjured blinking out as she falls, the sound of tumbling stones and a startled shriek cutting through the sudden darkness.

He's the closest to her, not ten feet behind, and he reaches her first, throwing enough fire into the air to illuminate the area.

Thankfully, she doesn't _look_ to be hurt – he breathes a sigh of relief to find her still conscious, muttering to herself as she tries to free herself from the twisted straps of her pack which had trapped her when she fell.

"You all right?" he asks, crouching on the stablest bit of ground that he can and helping her to unthread her arms from where the straps have bound them tight against her torso. The fire that he has conjured goes out and they are wreathed in darknes again.

She's muttering curses under her breath – he's amused to hear one or two of Varric's more inventive ones. "I'm _fine_," she says harshly, and light sparks around her, just enough that they can see each other. "Bloody Deep Roads. Why did I want to come down here again?"

"Gold, riches, and death? Oh, and darkspawn." Together, they get her free of the pack and Anders stands, offering a hand to help her up. She grasps it tightly and he pulls her up.

"Oh, joy, _darkspawn_." Her hand is warm in his and the perpetual scent of lightening that follows her around is so much stronger this close to her. He swallows, mouth dry, and drops her hand – perhaps a little too quickly, and in the dim light he thinks that she is frowning at him.

"You know, your little light show down here is making it really hard to follow you, Hawke," Varric says, coming up behind them, the light from his torch illuminating both of them. "What happen, the stairs try to kill you?"

"Something like that," she says, swinging her pack back over her shoulders. "You'd be surprised how bloodthirsty that can be."

"Vicious stairs," Varric muses as they begin to move again, Hawke being particularly careful about where she steps now. "I'll have to work that into one of my stories about you. Think of it: _Hawke defeats the demon stairs of the Deep Roads_."

"Aided by her dashing apostate sidekick, of course," Hawke says playfully. Anders swears that she winks at him.

He puts a hand to his heart in mock pain. "_Sidekick_? My dear, I am _wounded_. Surely I deserve a better title than that."

She shrugs. "Companion, then? Varric, you think of something. I'm no good at coming up with stuff like this."

The dwarf laughs. "Hawke, you just stick to electrifying things. You're much better at it."

* * *

><p>They make camp later, when they have reached a long stretch of level ground. They have reached a more intact portion of the Deep Roads, the architecture worn but distinct, and the darkness is broken by the blue glow of lyrium veins that shows through cracks in the stone.<p>

It is not much, not yet, but Justice begins to hum within him at the proximity to it. The spirit's fascination with the substance bleeds into Anders' own mind and he finds himself distracted throughout what serves as night for them, lying on his bedroll unable to sleep. It is not a new occurrence – since merging with Justice he has begun to sleep less and less, his thoughts restless and always racing with those of Justice refusing to quiet.

"Shut up, Justice," he tells himself ineffectually, and wishes that he had been able to keep that damned ring of lyrium the Warden-Commander had give Justice. Maybe it would have helped to dampen the spirit's curiosity.

"Talking with the demon in your head again?"

Anders stifles a groan of annoyance. _This_ is exactly why he doesn't carry on conversations with the spirit – well, doesn't carry on what could possibly be termed a conversation, since the thoughts in his head don't coalesce into neatly organized dialogues between the two different individuals.

"I didn't realize it was bothering you, Carver," he says. "If you'd like, I can relay all of the bits you _aren't_ hearing. It's really quite fascinating."

"Right, because hearing what your demon has to say is right up on the list of things I'm dying to know," the boy – and he really is a boy, only newly into his twenties, and Anders can remember being that age – says acidically.

"You know, Justice doesn't appreciate being called a demon," says Anders as lightly as he can, given the swell of annoyance within his chest that really isn't his at all. "You could try '_personification of a virtue_'. He likes fancy descriptions."

No, he doesn't, not at all, and the annoyance only grows.

"And I don't appreciate hearing about mage issues all the time, so I guess no one's going to get what they want."

There is a long bout of silence, broken only by the sound of breathing and Bartrand's snores from across the camp.

"Carver," Anders says after a time, and the boy is supposed to be on watch so even though he is met with silence he continues to speak. "Why _did_ you choose to come on this expedition?"

"What's that supposed to mean? And, anyway, I could ask _you_ the same question."

"Hawke asked me to come," he says, turning his head and glancing briefly over to where the woman is sleeping, tightly curled in on herself with her head mostly hidden by her bedroll. "And I'm a warden. The wardens and the Deep Roads sort of go together."

"But you're not a warden anymore."

Anders gives a bitter laugh. "Oh, they'll drag me back one day. One way or another. But you, _you_ didn't have to come here. You keep complaining about being in your sister's shadow, and yet you insisted on joining her in this."

There is a long silence. Carver shifts where he is sitting and Anders turns his head to see the boy hunched over toward the fire.

"I..." he starts, prodding slowly at the fire with a stick, the movement sending little sparks flying up into the air. "Do you have a family?"

It's an unexpected question, one that Anders isn't certain how to answer. It is such a strange thing to him, this idea of family.

"Not like you, no," he finally says. "Once, a long time ago...I did."

Carver lets out a long breath. "Look, I...I don't know if you can understand, but it's not as simple as just running away from everyone to find a life of my own. Right now, no matter what else, my family is important. And after Bethany...mother blames Ismat for that. But it wasn't just her fault. I could have done _something_. I didn't, and my sister died. And I'm not going to lose another one."

"You're trying to protect her."

"Like she _needs_ my protection," the boy mutters, shoving at the fire viciously. "Look, forget I said anything. I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"There was a girl at the Circle Tower in Fereldan," Anders finds himself saying, not certain why he's telling him this, only knowing that Carver has just told him something that he probably hasn't told anyone else and feeling the need to reciprocate in kind. "Ren Surana. She was younger than me, and more than a little...oblivious to things. Constantly setting herself on fire. She didn't...did notice a lot of the things that happened in the tower. We...a few of us used to watch out for her. Made certain that nothing happened to her." There are bitter memories in the back of his mind and he feels anger that is both his and Justice's. "Sometimes, I guess you have to sacrifice part of yourself for the people you care about."

"That's some healthy wisdom you have there," says Carver, and then he is silent again.

Anders wonders if this will form some sort of truce between the two of them. However unlikely, he finds that he hopes for it.

Eventually, Justice quiets enough that he is able to sleep, and when he does he dreams of darkspawn.


	2. Spider Dance

There is something _wrong_, something pulling in his blood and making him feel like the world is shifting beneath him.

Anders wakes, immediately grasping for his staff, rolling to his feet unsteadily.

"_Darkspawn_," he rasps out, voice harsh from sleep. "_Get up_."

There is little enough time for anyone to react. He nearly trips over Varric as he moves towards where he can feel the strongest pull from the taint. He can barely make out the forms of the darkspawn in the dim glow of the lyrium but he can _feel_ them, and that is enough for him to slam his staff into the ground, ice splintering up from the ground to catch the first wave of the creatures.

There are five of them, three of them caught in the ice. _Hurlocks_, he thinks, _no ogres yet. Oh, and an emissary._

_Shit_.

A crossbow bolt slices through the air beside him, far too close to his face for comfort, but it strikes one of the hurlocks. The creature doesn't fall, only jerks as the bolt buries itself in its shoulder.

"Bloody ancestors," Varric growls from behind Anders. "Hawke! I need light to aim!"

The air around the darkspawn begins to spark and crack, ropes of energy casting blue and white light everywhere. One of the hurlock's falls, a bolt through its skull.

The emissary is at the back, smart enough to keep its distance. Anders can feel the energy that it draws upon, even mixed in with all of the other magic lacing the air. There has always been something _wrong_ about the magic emissaries cast – though, he supposes, it might just have something to do with the taint.

It is a stray thought that crosses his mind as one of the darkspawn draws too near to him – he spins to the side, lashing out with the bladed end of his staff, blood and ice spraying around him as he connects with flesh – that he could always ask Hawke if she notices a difference in the emissary's magic.

There is a _very_ strong sense of _this is not something to be thinking about now_, and Anders draws his focus back to the darkspawn. The emissary needs to be taken down – _that_ is the first priority.

There is movement to his left, Carver moving forward swiftly. There is a hurlock there – the boy swings at it, hard, and his sword bites into metal armor.

_Emissary. Now_.

Hawke moves past him as well, into the fray, and it seems like she is targetting the emissary as well. Magic runs thick in the air as she begins to cast, lightening dancing along her fingertips, down the length of her staff, and she swings her body, ready to throw the light from her.

The emissary casts faster.

There is light – there is _so often_ light, the buildup of magic as it is released in whichever form – and Hawke falters as it hits her, staggered, her staff stabbed quickly into the ground to keep her from falling. The lightening at her fingers fades.

"The emissary, Carver!" she yells. "_Kill it!_"

The boy moves and Hawke casts, stone rising from the ground to encase the emissary, holding it in place. Another hurlock – Anders freezes it solid before it can reach Carver – and then past that, and the boy cleaves upward with his sword. Once, twice, again, and the emissary falls.

When it is all over, every darkspawn dead upon the ground, Anders takes a moment and breathes. He can still feel darkspawn, though there are none close by. His head pounds, though he is not certain what from – use of magic, lack of sleep, the ebb of the taint within him body. Or it could be lack of food – that was always a good bet in cases like that.

"Is everyone all right?" he hears Hawke call out, and she coughs as though she is having trouble breathing. His eyes snap open and he looks to her; she is leaning on her staff, one hand pressed to her chest.

"I'm fine," Varric says, picking his way over bodies of darkspawn. "Can't say the same for the darkspawn here." The rest of the expedition is awake now, moving around, an edge of panic in everyone.

"That's kind of the point of killing them, Varric. They're not supposed to be fine after they're dead." Hawke straightens and looks toward Anders. "Are there anymore darkspawn near?"

"No. There are more, just not...here."

She nods, strapping her staff onto her back and then turns back to the remains of the camp, wrinkling her nose as she kicks a darkspawn corpse off of her bedroll. "Urgh. And now this is going to smell for the rest of the trip."

"It's going to smell by the end of this trip, regardless," says Varric, who's own bedroll is darkspawn-free. Hawke sticks her tongue out at the dwarf.

"Look, can we just pick up camp without all this added banter?" Carver asks. He's completely splattered in darkspawn blood, which is _not_ a good thing. "Bartrand looks ready to kill someone."

"My brother always looks like that. Give him time. Once he punches someone, he'll be good as new soon enough."

Anders just shakes his head at this. "You have a very strange family." He turns to Carver. "You're going to need to get that blood off of you," he says. He pitches his next words loud enough that everyone can hear them. "Anyone who's come into contact with darkspawn blood needs to wash it off as soon as possible."

"And just _how_ am I supposed to do that?"Carver demands, wiping at the blackening blood staining his cheek. "It's not like we've got some endless supply of water with us."

"I wouldn't be so certain about that," Anders says with maybe just a _hint_ of a smirk, and draws on just the slightest thread of magic, ice crystals blooming in his raised hand.

"Show off," Carver says, but anything more that he might have said is drowned out by Hawke, who is giving him the same look that she gave him weeks ago when he had used his own fire to purify a basin of water.

"You can _do_ that?" she practically squeaks out. "Isn't it magical ice? Does it actually work like real ice?"

"It _is_ real ice," he says, far too amused by her questions and her wide eyed expression. "And if I melt it, it will be real water, too. Just...magically _created_ real ice."

"That is really useful," she says, and there's an odd longing note to her voice.

"It's not that hard to do," Anders says. "It's just ice magic, after all. It's really easy."

_Something_ in her face changes, excitement fading away to be replaced by something _hurt_, and his heart drops because, somehow, he's just said something _bad_.

"Sister dearest here can't do ice magic," Carver says with a hint of malice in his voice. Hawke reaches out to try to whack the back of his head.

"Shut up, Carver!"

"Hey, it's the truth!" He dodges out of the way of her hand. Hawke just glares at him.

"You can't do ice magic?" Anders asks her, and he probably sounds more shocked than he shoulder. It wasn't as though he didn't know mages who couldn't use particular schools of magic – Ren, he remembers, couldn't heal worth _anything_, and it wasn't like Anders had ever bothered to learn entropy spells no matter how much Na'im had pestered him about it – but normally they _could_ perform a spell if they _tried_ (and Ren certainly _rarely_ tried, though she excelled at setting herself on fire). The way the two siblings were talking, though, it sounded like-

"I am physically incapable of conjuring ice," Hawke says. "Can we stop talking about this? _Please?_"

That didn't explain _anything_, but she's glaring at _him_ now, and he'd rather not be on the receiving end of that look.

"Well-"

"I will _hurt_ you, Carver," she says. "Now, let's get this blood off you before you turn into a ghoul or something."

* * *

><p>Varric has pretty much decided that he hates the Deep Roads.<p>

That probably makes him a piss poor dwarf, but it's not like he isn't already a topsider and therefore about as un-dwarfish as a dwarf could possibly be without turning into an elf or something like that.

At least they've finally gotten past the _really_ dark part of this journey – now that they've reached the beginnings of the old and forgotten thaigs, deep enough within the earth that lyrium and lava can be found everywhere, casting enough light to brighten the caverns and halls.

The mages have been acting differently since the first sightings of lyrium. Not _drastically _different, but he's the sort of person to pick up on these sort of things.

Hawke is on edge. Jumpy. More talkative than normal, like she's got excess energy that she's got to get rid of one way or another. The first time that they find a vein of lyrium that isn't completely blocked to them, she darts up to it, far too close to be healthy, looking completely starstruck, and would probably have tried touching the damned stuff if Carver hadn't bodily dragged her away. Varric doesn't know exactly what lyrium does to mages, but he knows full well that it's _not _the sort of thing that someone should be sticking their hands on.

Then again, the first time they came across a river of lava flowing beside the path, she runs to the edge and sticks her head over to get a better look at it. Blondie is the one to pull her back that time and then proceeded to explain exactly what it was to the woman who only had the barest ideas of what sort of things were buried under the earth.

Anders, on the other hand, wavers between a state of high strung anxiety and a strangely calm state. Calm, but incredibly distant. Being distant isn't exactly a new thing for him – Varric _notices_ things, and he _knows_ that Blondie's not always all there. He's not exactly sure which of the not-normal ways of acting he dislikes more, the distant, blank looks that he gets sometimes or the full on blue-glowing mode of his. Varric's been lucky in regards to the latter of the two; he's only seen Blondie's vengeful passenger show up twice. Hawke, he knows, has seen the spirit come out to play a couple times more than that.

He just hopes that calm and distant is a _good_ thing.

They run into darkspawn more and more often, fighting and killing and stopping to wash away as much of the tainted blood as possible. It becomes impossible to remove it completely from their clothes and armor, though that doesn't stop Hawke from stripping down to a thin shift and pants and try to dig the dried blood out of the grooves of her leathers whenever they stop to make camp.

By the time they are about a week into the expedition, everyone is tired and growing sick of the entire thing, and that is when they actually begin to find things. They are deep underground now, and Varric thinks that he should probably be feeling some sort of ingrained dwarven pride. He's not. While there's less body odor down here than he'd expected, the whole place smells strongly of nug shit and darkspawn and rot.

Preferring to be in the sun to the Deep Roads probably breaks some dwarven law or something. At this point, though, Varric can pretty much care less.

But, at least they are nearing their destination, lyrium running thick around them, more and more doorways leading to areas that had likely once been inhabited. And they are starting to find _things_, old relics, bit of an ancient dwarven past, gold and jewels and precious metals that will fetch a fantastic price back on the surface.

The four of them end up pushed into playing scouts more often than not, being the most heavily armed and – dare he say it – _dangerous_ members of the expedition.

So, when the path forward is blocked by rubble and and doors that would no longer open after years of being sealed, they were the ones sent on ahead to chart a new route.

Truth be told, though, he thinks that Hawke's insistence they go is spurred by her trying very hard _not_ to punch Bartrand in the face every time the dwarf opens his mouth. She's not a fan of his brother, that much is for certain. And it's understandable – after all, Varric himself isn't particularly enjoying spending several all this time underground with Bartrand.

"Did your brother _have_ to actually be on this expedition?" Hawke asks him once they're out of sight of camp, picking their way carefully down the rubble-strewn side passageway.

Varric gives a sharp bark of laughter. "He's got to 'protect his investment'."

"Well, given that I'm here because fifty sovereigns is a damn lot of coin and I'm sure this is all costing a _lot_ more than that, I guess I'm not surprised."

Anders, who is walking in front of them, pulls up short and glances back at them. "We've got darkspawn ahead," he says with a grim smile.

"Wonderful." Carver raises a hand to the hilt of his sword, looking briefly towards Anders. "Do you warden senses tell you anything _useful?_"

"I would think that being able to detect that there _are_ darkspawn around is pretty useful. Why, what's _your_ definition of useful?"

"Oh, maybe telling us how many darkspawn there are and if there are any ogres," Carver says.

"Maker, please don't let there be ogres," Hawke says quietly, the words almost a whisper, but they all hear her. There's a moment of almost awkward silence – both he and Anders have heard about how the third Hawke sibling had died, even if Varric hasn't pressed for specifics – and then Hawke pulls her long bladed staff from its resting place on her back and stalks forward. "Right. Darkspawn. Let's move. The faster we get this done, the sooner we can get to wherever it is we're trying to go."

In the end, though, it's not ogres that they have to worry about, it's spiders. Giant, _monstrous_ spiders that drop down from the ceiling and crawl out of crevices that seem far too small to have harbored such huge creatures. The path they had been following had led only to a locked door that they couldn't open and the corridor behind them filled up with the spiders, trapping them quite effectively and giving them little room to actually move.

The good thing about being a ranged combat fighter is that you don't have to move around a lot. The bad thing is that a crossbow isn't the most effective weapon when a spider crawls right up to you and tries to eat you. At least, Varric assumes it's trying to eat him. He really shouldn't try to reason out the motives behind a giant spider.

Still, he's found that a crossbow bolt, when applied to one of the multitudinous eyes of a spider, makes a damn good weapon.

Well, several bolts applied to several eyes.

Hawke is mashed up against the wall, as far away from the spiders as she can get, casting spells from a small outcropping of rock that she's managed to scramble up. It's not really any safer than anywhere else, but he would guess that it gives her a better view of the hall.

Carver and Anders get stuck in the open, surrounded by the creatures. It's probably not _too_ terrible for Carver. The boy is used to close combat. But Blondie's not all that good at it, and that stupid fluffy coat of his isn't all that protective – not that Varric, clad in his not-armored leather coat has much room to talk. Still, the two do decently, Anders freezing them and dropping those paralysis glyphs of his here and there to slow the spiders down while Carver hacks at them with that absurdly large sword of his.

Well, they do decently until the largest spider that Varric has _ever_ seen drops down from a wide crack in the ceiling, bowling Carver over with one of it's legs and turning it's attention straight to the healer.

The spider catches him with his back turned to it – he'd been finishing another spider off, what they had all thought to be the last – and he's barely got time to turn and face it before it's on him, it's grotesque head descending, and Varric can see it's fangs.

There's a shout from Anders as he manages to bring his staff up, keeping it between himself and the spider, but the spider is intent on him and there is a terrible cracking sound as it hits the staff instead of him, shattering it even as the force of the blow throws the mage to the ground. And then the spider is on top of him.

"_Anders!_"

It's Hawke's panicked shout and she lunges forward, off the rocks that she's spent most of the battle on, casting even as she moves, spell after spell, all of which seem to do little to harm the spider. He can hear Anders yelling and Hawke casts _something, _a spell that Varric can feel even from behind her, a force that thrums through the air, tugging on all his limbs so much that he almost feels himself being pulled forward. The spider rears back and Varric takes aim at its head, loosing a bolt straight into one of it's eyes.

It's enough for Anders to scramble forward, pulling himself out from under the spider. There's a long tear down the side of his coat and Varric can see blood. He tries to rise to his feet but falters.

"Get _away_ from him!" It's pointless to yell at at a giant spider, but Hawke does so anyway, placing herself between it and Anders. The air hums around her as lightening gathers around her staff, streaking out to scorch along the spider's side. Which does little more than turn its attention to _her_. But she's not caught as unaware as Anders was and manages to avoid the first swipe of the spider's head. "Carver!" she yells as she plasters herself to the wall, then twists to the side, striking out with the bladed end of her staff and finally – _finally_ – tearing a long gash into the spider's abdomen. "Get it's leg! Any of them!"

And Carver hits the spider with as much force as he can, right as the air grows heavy again and Hawke casts one of her gravity spells, slamming the spider down as hard as she can.

Which isn't all that hard, given that the spider seems to be immune to most everything she can throw at it. But combined with what Carver has done, the spider falls – not dead, not even _close_ – but temporarily off-kilter, and even as Carver and Hawke both stab at it's underbelly, Anders gathers up enough magic to send a sheet of ice across the ground, catching several more of the legs and freezing them. It's enough to still it, stop it, and it's a combination of Carver's heavy strikes, Varric's crossbow bolts to its eyes, and Hawke tearing at its underside with a lightening-laced blade that finally take it down.

When it's all over, both Hawke and Carver are covered in the spider's gore – Varric is quickly reminded of just how _awful_ the insides of a spider smell – and Anders is propped against the rock wall, cocooning himself in healing magic.

When he tells Isabela about this when they get back, he'll add all sorts of embellishments. _Hawke raced over to the fallen healer, falling to her knees beside him. He was hurt, pale and bleeding, but Hawke wasn't about to let him die and called upon healing magic that she hadn't known she'd possessed -_

No, that was no good. Too cliched, though Isabela _did_ love a good cliché.

Maybe he'd just tell her what actually happened and the two of them could work on making it more and more unbelievable over a round or two at the Hanged Man.

What actually happens is a bit less dramatic – Hawke _does_ run over to Anders, who is very much conscious and, while he looks pretty pale, he's not bleeding all _that_ much.

"Did you know that most spiders are poisonous?" Anders says from where he lies on the ground, and he has a sort of pained grin on his face. "Do you happen to have an extra antidote kit? It would help fantastically in me _not_ dying."

Okay, so Hawke _does_ drop to her knees beside him, rummaging through the pouches attached to her belt, spilling little vials of all the various potions and poisons she carried all around her feet, finally finding the one she wants and passing it to him as quickly as she can.

"Come on, Blondie, dying at this point would just be sad," Varric says, the lightness in his voice betraying the fact that he's more than a little concerned with just how pale Anders looks. Granted, they've been away from the sun for quite awhile now, but this is definitely the "I've been poisoned, help" sort of pale and not the sun-deprived sort.

Anders laughs, uncapping the vial with an unsteady hand and swallowing down the antidote as quickly as he can. "Death by spiders is a bit underwhelming," he says, wiping a hand over his mouth.

"Anything I can do?" Hawke asks, looking to the healer even while her hands gather up the scattered vials.

Anders shakes his head. "Antidote should kick in shortly. If not, I'll just fall over in a little bit."

Hawke's eyebrows draw together and she gives him a _look_, which he patently ignores. "That is _not_ funny."

"Is our delicate little mage-flower not doing so well?" asks Carver, who has taken this time to make sure there are no other creatures around. Hawke turns her glare on him.

"Shut up, Carver," she says. "See if _you_ like getting poisoned by Deep Road creatures. I'm sure you'll just _love_ it."

"Right. And I'll just be _waiting_ for you to swoop in and save me when _that_ happens."

"Well, I don't _appear_ to be falling over dead," Anders says to Varric, as the two siblings are glaring quite pointedly at one another. "I'd say the combination of healing magic and potions wins again."

"You've got too much luck to be good for you, Blondie."

"Eh." Anders has that odd, distant smile on his lips as he allows the healing magic to fade. "I'm just lucky enough to get out of bad situations for awhile, but not lucky enough to escape them altogether."

"Better than having no luck at all."

Anders shrugs, but doesn't respond to that. "I'm going to need to find a new staff," he says, almost amused. "Fantastic."

* * *

><p>"Well, I don't have any idea how he did it, but Sandal took down a <em>lot<em> of darkspawn." Ismat Hawke picks her way through to corpses, turning one over with her booted foot. "I guess Bodhan didn't need to worry all that much about him."

"You know, I think the Warden-Commander had a story or two about him." The mention of the Warden-Commander is enough to draw Ismat's attention; Anders doesn't talk about her much, or about his time with the Wardens, and that mystery is one of the thing that fascinates her about him.

"Yeah? Bodhan _did_ mention that they traveled with the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight. What sort of stories were they?" she asks, curious, but not wanting to pry too much.

"I said I _think_ she had stories," Anders says, that infuriating little smirk of his tugging at his lips. "We were normally all drunk by the time she started talking about the Blight."

"You? Drunk? I'll believe it when I see it." She surveys the rest of the corpses, finally spying what she has been looking for. "Aha! Found it!"

Anders give her an odd look as she darts forward, pushing over yet another darkspawn's body. "You found _what?_ Do I even want to know?"

Ismat drops into a crouch, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tugs at the staff half covered by on of the corpses. "Well, _you_ happen to need a new staff, and emissaries just _happen_ to carry staffs. And seeing as all these are quite _dead_, I figure," she yanks on the staff, managing to pull it out, and holds it up triumphantly, "that you could find a better use for one. Like this one!"

He's looking at her _really_ oddly, but she's really not sure what his expression is supposed to convey. Then again, she's not always the best at reading people. She glances from him to the staff and grimaces.

"Okay," she concedes, "so it's sort of covered in darkspawn guts and is probably tainted and sort of smells, but it's a _staff!_ It's better than _no_ staff, at least. It will help make your fireballs larger!"

"Is that some sort of euphemism, Hawke?" Varric asks. "If it is, it's not really the best."

Ismat's cheeks heat somewhat, but she laughs. "Varric, if it was meant to be a euphemism, you'd _know_." She looks back to Anders. "Oh, for the Maker's sake, just take the bloody staff, Anders. Think of it as a gift."

"A bloody staff indeed," he says, but he reaches out and gingerly takes the staff. "I can cast perfectly well without a staff, you know."

"I'm _sure_ you can." There's only the _tiniest_ bit of sarcasm in her voice. Only the smallest bit. And he definitely has caught on to it. "But this has pointy, sharp...crescent-y shaped bladed things. Better for stabbing. You know, useful for _not_ getting chewed on by giant spiders." And, luckily, he seems to be more or less okay after that, if still a bit paler than normal. But he hasn't fallen over dead from poisoning yet, and it's been a bit of time, so she's going to _hope_ that he's all right. It's not like she can really do anything if he isn't; it's not like she's a healer.

"Sweetheart, I've been stabbing things since before you were born," he says, and that is _definitely_ some sort of euphemism. "I know a thing or two about stabbing."

"Oh, my, you must be _much_ older than I thought, if you've been stabbing things that long." She gives him a rather cheeky smile.

"Oh, will you two just _stop talking_ already?"

"Aw, impatient to go kill more darkspawn?" Hawke asks, rising to her feet and wiping her hands over her pants to get rid of the traces of blood that have stuck to them.

"Impatient to find a way past all of this rubble," he says. "Come on. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get back to Varric's brother."

"Joy of joys," Varric says, and they begin to walk again.


	3. Wraiths

There is an ogre. And then a dragon. And there is a lot of blood and yelling, along with Hawke repeatedly kicking in the dead ogre's head as though it had done her some terrible wrong – and, in a way, it sort of has, by virtue of simply being an ogre.

That, and it had bashed Carver into a wall before Anders had managed to immobilize it, and that was _not_ something the eldest Hawke sibling was okay with. The bashing, that is. Not the immobilizing. Anders rather thought that Hawke enjoyed seeing an ogre knocked down midstep by a well placed sheet of ice followed by a crushing prison or two.

They take a few minutes to wash the darkspawn blood from their skin – Hawke fusses over Carver, wiping at his face with a damp scrap of cloth until he snaps at her and tells her to stop coddling him. And she snaps right back, the two of them throwing words back and forth between them until the name Bethany is mentioned. After that, they are both quiet, and Carver allows Hawke to wipe away the last traces of the tainted blood.

Anders doesn't understand the two of them, does not understand these siblings and their squabbling. Justice understands even less, not understanding the concept of _family_, does not have anything more than the echoes of Kristoff and Aura and Anders' own memories of his mother and father to draw from.

But Justice does not much care for the youngest Hawke, disliking someone who should know so much of what mages must endure and yet does _nothing_. But Justice sees the world in black and white, and now that they have merged, Anders can see that as well. But he can still see things in shades of grey. He can understand a young man who has not yet found his place in the world – it had taken Anders _years_, after all, running away from everything that might have meant anything to him until he met Justice – and so while he can dislike Carver for many reasons, he can still understand at least a little bit of why the boy thinks as he does.

He worries about what it will mean when he stops being able to see that there are shades of grey in any situation. When he looks at anyone who does not stand with the mages against their oppressors and sees only enemies.

But Hawke and Carver are confusing, in many ways, with all the anger that fills the air between them. And yet there is some undercurrent of affection – and both of them are incredibly protective of the other, in ways that they both chafe under. Not that they both don't do some _very_ stupid things, and Anders is honestly shocked that they have all made it out of certain situations with Hawke's magic still a secret. He hadn't been there when Hawke had confronted the Knight-Captain on the Wounded Coast, but to hear Carver tell it she had all but openly declared that she was a mage.

He remembers Cullen from the Circle in Ferelden, remembers him when he was an awkward, newly appointed Templar who turned bright red whenever _certain girls_ would so much as glance his way, and he also remembers him in the aftermath of Uldred and how he had become increasingly volatile after what had happened to him.

_That_ Cullen is not the sort of Templar that Anders would have wanted to see anywhere near a mage, much less near Hawke. She might know when not to cast, but she's not the sort to curb her tongue. She speaks her mind, and when it is to defend mages – he has seen it firsthand, and while there is such...such _approval_, from Justice, from himself, at how she doesn't back down when she sees a mage wronged, there is also worry and even _fear_, because Anders, at least, understands how fine a line she walks.

In some ways, he has _no_ idea how she has been able to evade the Templars for so long. Barring anything else, he thinks that she must be _incredibly_ lucky.

The dragon, when it swoops down upon them as they enter a large chamber, turns out to be a bit more than they can handle, even collectively. Ogres they can take, even giant spiders – though Anders is _very_ happy that they still had a vial of antidote left, because that could have ended very badly for him – but _dragons_ are a bit much. It's the sort of fight that they all end up limping away from, and Anders is glad for all the lyrium around them, because without it he would probably be feeling completely drained.

They take refuge in a small alcove for a time, to exhausted to keep moving forward. Carver and Hawke slump against one another, both equally protective of the other in the moments after the dragon had caught Carver's leg in its mouth, after Hawke had been flung against a wall hard enough to knock her out. Anders has fixed them both – Carver's leg will be scarred, but he'll walk again. Hawke – well, Hawke's got a hard head, and while colliding with a wall wasn't _good_ for her, Anders had got to her quick enough to prevent anything from taking a bad turn. He's good at healing head injuries; spending a few months battling beside Oghren had given him ample opportunity for practice.

They're both going to be fine.

Anders, on the other hand, is exhausted. Too much lyrium and too much healing makes for a tired body and a restless mind. He's curled up by the door to the ruined room they have made camp in, pressed back against the wall, trying to will himself to sleep. But it eludes him and all he accomplishes is determining the number of stones used to make the back wall.

"Blondie, you should take your own advice and get some sleep."

Anders glances over to where Varric sits. The dwarf had come out of the battle most intact, with only a singed coat and a few scratches that hadn't taken much effort to patch up.

"Can't sleep," he says, his words more fragmented by his fatigue than he would like. "The lyrium won't stop singing."

Varric's eyebrows draw together, his expression one of concern. "I've heard you say some pretty creepy things, Blondie. Justice isn't coming out to play, I hope."

"What? No." Anders shakes his head a bit, debating whether or not he should just use a rejuvenation spell on himself. He's done it before, gone days with minimal sleep and enough spells to keep his body from failing on him. It was something he had learned after his second escape from the Circle, when he had realized that any stops during the first few days would mean his capture. "I'm just...tired. The whole actually falling asleep thing seems to be a bit beyond my reach, though."

"Huh. Might want to try fixing that. You look like something a giant spider chewed on."

"Hah, hah. Witty, Varric. Real witty."

"I try."

There's a beat, a pause where Varric is silent and Anders watches the flicker of the little fire they have going.

"You really do look like shit, you know," Varric finally says. Anders give a small laugh.

"Good to know you're keeping tabs on my appearance."

"I'm serious. Am I going to have to knock you out for you to get some sleep?"

"Please, don't."

There is silence again, save for the crackle of the fire and the constant murmur of Justice in the back of Anders' mind.

"So, Blondie," Varric begins, and Anders allows his gaze to slide over to the dwarf. He knows that tone – it's Varric's '_I'm going to ask you a question about something you probably don't want to talk about but you're going to answer_' voice. "Just why _did_ you decide to join us on this expedition?"

Anders sighs. It's not an unexpected question – he's actually quite surprised it took Varric so long to ask. The dwarf enjoys digging for the motivating forces behind people – helps with his storytelling, he says. There have been more than a few nights at the Hanged Man – Isabela trying and failing to get him drunk – when he's heard Varric ask Hawke about one thing or another. What was her _motivation_ behind doing something. To which Hawke would often reply that he was going to make the whole story up anyway, so why answer? But she tells him anyway, though Anders is pretty sure that she normally makes up most of it herself.

"Well, I'm a Grey Warden," he says instead of anything more revealing of his own thoughts. "Grey Wardens and darkspawn just go together. Like kittens and balls of yarn. Or the king of Ferelden and cheese."

"The king and _cheese?_" Varric raises an eyebrow at him. "You're crap at metaphors, Blondie."

"It's a _simile_, thank you very much. And, for the record, King Alistair has an unhealthy obsession with cheese."

"And you know this _how?_"

"The Hero of Ferelden told me," he says, just a _little_ smugly. He'd picked up a lot of odd bits of information about the ruler of Ferelden thanks to the Commander's drunken ramblings. Not all of it was things that he was meant to hear, and not all of it was things that he had _wanted_ to know.

"You know," says Varric, moving about a bit, seating himself more comfortably against the stone wall, "I get the feeling that you have a _lot_ of good stories from running around with the Wardens. You'll have to tell me them sometime."

"What, you mean the ones the Wardens _wouldn't_ kill me for telling?" Anders gives a dry laugh and then sobers. "Who am I kidding, the Commander is going to kill me if I ever see her again." He mumbles the last bit to himself, but Varric still hears it.

"No love lost between you and your former commander, I take it?"

Anders shakes his head slowly. He'd like to think that they had been friends – he'd considered _Nathaniel_ a friend, and he had been downright _surly_ to him on more than one occasion. He and the Commander had gotten on well enough. Better than well enough.

He feels a slight surge of affection from Justice as their thoughts turn to the Warden-Commander. Yes, she had been a friend. To both of them.

"It's more that she doesn't do too well with people..._leaving_," he says. _Or with death_, he doesn't say, but he remembers her face Varel had died. He remembers wishing that he'd been able to do something more, that he'd been there fast enough to save the man. "She's fun when she's drunk, though. At least, she is when she decides to be a happy drunk." An odd though crosses his mind and he says it aloud before he can stop himself. "Wonder if Meredith is more fun when she's drunk. Wouldn't that be fun, getting all the Templars in Kirkwall drunk. Wonder if they'd start dancing. They've already got the skirts for it; they wouldn't have to dress up at all!"

Varric chuckles at that, but Anders's words trail off as he feels a wave of disapproval from Justice. It's only a feeling – though a strong one – with no words, but the intent is clear enough. _That was not amusing. Do not do that again_.

Justice does not understand humor. At least, not all of Anders' humor. And it is hard to continue to make quips and say irreverent things when there is a presence within his head that tells him not to. That disapproves of how he acts. Sometimes, it is easier to just not speak.

Varric is frowning at him now, heavy brows drawn together. "You just succeeded in getting me completely off topic. Didn't know you were that crafty."

"It's a little known talent," Anders says, and yawns, the bones in his jaw making a cracking sound that is loud to his ears. "I'm incredibly crafty. And sneaky."

"You might as well answer my question. I'll stop bugging you with questions. About this topic, at least."

He yawns again, eyes sliding shut for a moment. Maybe he'll actually fall asleep soon. "What was the question, again?"

"Why did you come on this expedition?"

Anders can most definitely feel himself slipping into sleep. "I wanted to...keep everyone safe...against the darkspawn."

"_Everyone?_" Varric asks, but Anders has _finally_ fallen asleep and does not hear him.

* * *

><p>They find the path they were seeking shortly after they wake, and then it is the long trek back to where Bartrand and the rest of the expedition wait. Carver is still mildly in pain, his leg twinging now and again, though perhaps that is just from him remembering it being impaled by a dragon's tooth.<p>

He might not be the biggest fan of Anders, but the mage certainly knows how to heal, and for that he is grateful.

They've only just got back to the rest of the group when one of the dwarves – the older one who actually has a decent beard on his face - comes running up to his sister, and smiles and words of gratitude.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you found my son, Serah Hawke," he says, clasping his hands before him. "I shudder to think what might have happened to him if you hadn't come across him."

"I'm glad he was safe," Ismat tells him. "But I don't think he needed our help. He seems quite capable."

"Oh, that he is. But we are in your debt, Serah. If there's anything you need, just let us know."

"That's kind of you, Bodhan," she says, looking a bit shocked by just how serious the dwarf makes this sound, how much he seems to emphasize this debt. "But there's no need."

"I won't take no for an answer, Serah. Anything you need, me and my boy can help."

Ismat looks a bit helpless and Carver rolls his eyes. She should be _used_ to this by now, how she can do even the most simple thing for someone and they will start falling all over themselves to thank her properly. It's like Barlin back in Lothering used to say: Ismat got every ounce of charm from their father, Bethany got every drop of their mother's beauty, and Carver got whatever was left over.

He had thought that he would be able to make a name for himself by joining the King's army. And yet all he had gotten for that was a few scars that still hadn't faded and a long run from Ostagar home.

The expedition starts moving again, and Carver ends up talking with one of the mercenaries Bartrand had hired as part of his protection. The man doesn't speak as amazingly as Meeran does, and truth be told, Carver isn't that impressed by anyone that Bartrand has hired. Not that he's impressed by his sister's friends. Okay, that's a lie – he's _very_ impressed by Varric's chest hair. He'd be more impressed by Anders if the man would just shut up about mages every now and again.

And if the man would stop stealing glances at Carver's sister. That would be nice. Granted, he knows better than to step in between his sister and any man, not after the _last_ time he had thought it was his brotherly duty to do so – _that_ had resulted in Ismat giving him a black eye and then not speaking to him for a week. He'd been thirteen at the time.

Still, he's got to admit that it's kind of nice having a Warden with them. Though they've gotten better over the past year or so, he's had nightmares about darkspawn ever since Bethany's death. They don't come every night, and some are better than others, watching his twin sister be crushed to death by an ogre is something that has never left his mind. And it is that which made him insist that he come on this expedition, even if he could have remained in Kirkwall, trying to find a path for himself in his sister's absence. Because if he found out that his last sibling had died down here, he would never be able to forgive himself.

The way around the blocked tunnel is much faster this time around, with no ogres or dragons or darkspawn swarming about, and they make good time. They run into a few more batches of darkspawn, but then there is a point where they just seem to _vanish_, and all they run into are shades.

They pass through caves that are no longer hallways, past veins of lyrium and crumbling stone, and eventually they make their way to an area that feels _old_. Well, older than what they had already traveled through. The air is stale, still, and the light comes only from lyrium and lava flows.

The first time they see the red lyrium veins, Ismat comes to a stop.

"Anders," she says, not turning, just staring, the red glow highlighting the lines of her face. "Anders, you know more about lyrium than I do. Is this normal?"

The mage's brows are drawn close together as he leans closer to one of the veins. "I – no. There's something..._different_ about this. It..._sounds_ different."

Ismat frowns, a rather confused look on her face. "_Sounds_ different?"

Anders presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Carver would _swear_ that there is the slightest glow of blue that flickers over his skin, but it is gone to quickly to be absolutely certain. Still, he _knows_ what it means when the man starts glowing blue, and it's not a good thing. "Never mind," he says, dropping his hand and stepping back from the lyrium. "It's not like the lyrium we saw before. That much, at least, is pretty apparent."

But Ismat seems determined not to let the whole sound thing drop. "Anders, you can't say something like _'this lyrium sounds different'_ and expect me to _not_ ask you annoying questions about it. It's not a mage thing, is it? I mean, I know I didn't have the _best_ magical education, but I don't really remember my father saying anything about lyrium having a specific _sound_."

"Could I just convince you that I never said that?" Anders tries, making some sort of pathetic face – Carver walks a little fast to pass them, so that, even if he has to _hear_ them, he doesn't have to actually watch them.

"Nope." Ismat is probably grinning at him, Carver thinks.

"Well, then you'll just be disappointed." There's something quite playful about the mage's voice. _Great_. They're flirting over _lyrium_. "It's one of my _secrets_. _Hey!_ Stop poking me!"

This is _far_ worse than the time Bethany had a crush on the herbalist's son. At least she had been too shy to do any _flirting_ then.

_Sisters_.

Luckily, they arrive at the ancient thaig _before_ he gets too annoyed at them. And then they are _there_, at the place this whole expedition had been set up to get to, and there's a long moment of silence where they all just _stare_ out over the abandoned structure, at the cracked and ruined columns and the red lyrium threaded about them.

They set up camp just outside of the thaig, getting things settled before they actually begin exploring it. And though he is tired of being under the ground and practically aching to see the sun again, Carver is _excited_. This is an ancient dwarven thaig, older than anything he's ever seen.

"Ready to go treasure hunting, little brother?" Ismat says, coming up to his side and smiling widely. "Who _knows_ what we're going to find here!"

"Darkspawn corpses and giant spiders," he deadpans, and Ismat laughs.

"You're a ray of sunshine, Carver." She claps him on the shoulder. "Come on, we've got dwarven ruins to explore!"

They don't take much with them – the bulk of their supplies are left at the camp. They take their weapons and water and food, but little else besides. Bedrolls, just in case something like the whole dragon incident happens again and they can't get back to camp for some time.

Inside the thaig is – well, it's _dustier_, for one, and the air smells of rot and decay – even more amazing than seeing it from the outside. Carver doesn't know a thing about dwarven architecture, but this is _clearly_ different from what they've been traipsing through for the past weeks. Ismat keeps bounding from room to room, far more gleeful now that they've reached their destination, and she ends up finding a few bits of ancient technology that the group muses over for more time than they should, trying to figure out what it might possibly do. They give up after the third time 'nug launcher' is suggested, but her mood is infectious and everyone seems happier than they've been in days. It's almost enough to forget about the new scar on his leg.

They come to a heavy set of doors a couple of hours into searching the ruins, leading to a large room, with steps that lead up to an altar. And, when they reach it, there's another long moment where everyone just _looks_ at what lies atop it, some strange idol that seems to be carved out of that red lyrium they've been seeing everywhere.

Carver might not be a mage, but there's obviously something _wrong_ about it.

But Ismat picks it up and nothing bad happens and he breathes a sigh of relief. He half expected it to blow up in her face or turn her to stone or something – one can never tell with magical artifacts, or so his father always used to say when telling his outlandish tales of his adventures as an apostate on the run. A _young_ apostate on the run, rather.

And then everything _does_ blow up in their face. Not _literally_, but in more of a very tangible locking of heavy doors.

As Varric rages about his brother and tries to get the door open, Carver can do nothing but stand there numbly. They're locked in.

_They're locked in_.

"Stand back," he hears Ismat say, and he glances her way to see her whips out her staff. "_Move_, Carver."

"What are you-"

"_Move_."

He does, and Ismat flourishes her staff. He can _smell_ the electricity in the air, feel it on his skin, and it crackles around his sister. And then she casts it at the door.

It crashes against it, lightning dancing blue and purple and white over the metal and stone. It sparks and dazzles, but does _nothing_.

The pressure in the air changes now, so heavy that it almost chokes, and dust scatters around them as her magic slams against the door.

_Nothing_.

"Anders, _help me_," she says as she throws another spell at the door, this time stones that rebound and scatter around their feet.

"Hawke..."

"You're a better mage than me! Get over here and _help_."

And she must be rattled to say something like that, he thinks, and there's a part of him that crows over her admitting something like that. At admitting she's not the best at something. The rest of him is still trying to process this, as well as the look on Anders' face which seems to suggest that he can't do anything to help with this.

He takes too long to do anything, and Ismat crosses the steps to his side and drags the older mage before the door.

"_Do_ something," she insists. Anders' hands tighten around his staff.

"Hawke, I _can't_," he says. "Magic isn't going to open this door."

The look of panic on his sister's face is barely contained, and she turns sharply towards the door, sparks gathering around her fingers again. She's about to cast again, but Anders catches her wrist. The lightning sputters and dies on her fingertips.

"_Stop_," he says, voice harsh, and, again, Carver swears he can see lines of blue momentarily flare into life on his skin. "That's not going to do anything. _All_ you're going to do is drain yourself."

"I'm _not_ going to be _trapped_ in here!" his sister practically snarls, jerking her arm out of Anders' grasp.

"Hawke, Blondie's right," Varric says, before she can resume casting. "That door's not going to open just because you threaten it with a fireball. We've got to find another path."

"I wasn't threatening it with a fireball," Ismat mutters, but her shoulders slump and she lets her staff fall. "I don't even _cast_ fireballs."

"For which everyone is glad," Carver says. "Come on, sister. Don't you have some amazing plan to get us out of this?"

The glare she gives him is absolutely poisonous, but she doesn't say anything to him. Which is probably good, given that it would just devolve into name calling at this point.

Ismat presses a hand against her face and breathes deeply several times. "Okay," she says. "_Okay._ We can do this. There has to be a way out of here." Her head snaps up and she looks toward the altar. "A back door. There _has_ to be a back door."

And there is.

* * *

><p>Justice is absolutely <em>raging<em> within his mind, and Anders' own anger is only making it worse.

_What is she _thinking_?_

He would have expected it from Merrill; for all her sweet and adorable ways, the elf is clueless when it comes to the dangers of demons. But _Hawke?_ She should _know_ better, should be able to recognize a demon's trickery.

She should _not_ be making deals with demons.

"What are you _doing?_" he hisses once they are out of sight of the overly eloquent profane, Justice barely contained within his skin. "That was a _demon_."

"I know what it was," she says, not pausing in her steps, and he increases his pace to keep up with her.

"Then why would you even _talk_ to it?"

"I'm getting us out of here," is her reply, and the part of his mind that hasn't been swept up in anger is trying to rationalize this somehow. It's the lyrium, he thinks, grasping for something, _anything_. She wouldn't normally do this, but she touched that idol and it had _done_ something to her. Or she's inhaled too much lyrium dust, being in the Deep Roads so long.

She's cannot _possibly_ have just made a deal with a demon of her own free will. She _can't_ have.

"You should have killed it," he insists, and she finally looks at him, jaw set, eyes narrowed.

"If you're that upset over this, go back and kill it yourself," she tells him.

"That's not the _point_."

She lets out a short breath of annoyance. "Look, I _avoided_ a fight and got us information. We can't just throw ourselves into every possible battle. We can't afford to."

"_We_ can't afford to make deals with demons, either!"

Hawke stops, shakes her head a bit, then turns to face him. "Anders, I didn't make a deal with it! Do you honestly think that I'm going to honor any 'deal' that I make with a demon? For Andraste's sake, Anders, I _know_ it's a demon! I'm not going to barter my soul away!"

"You can't take the risk!"

"I can, and I will."

He can feel Justice slipping out with his anger, far too much emotion spilling out to keep it all contained. "This is the road of a blood mage," he says, and Hawke jerks, nearly takes a step away from him as cracks of blue light being to trace his skin.

"Stop. Glowing." Her voice is harsh and she has shifted her stance subtly so that she stands defensively. "Either yell at me as yourself, Anders, or I will consider this conversation to be _over_."

It's like fighting against the current, pulling himself back to the forefront. It's a struggle, a difficult one, but eventually Justice settles into his mind again, and when Anders comes back to himself Hawke is still standing there, blue light no longer reflected on her face.

"Can you talk to me without Justice getting involved?" she asks him, and he doesn't know how to answer that. When he doesn't answer, she just shakes her head again. "Then don't talk to me." She pivots on her heel and continues walking.

He watches her for several moments before he follows, trying to get everything under control. Justice is nowhere near quiet, and there's a thought that circles through his head. _Can't trust her anymore_.

Part of him wonders why her making this...this _arrangement_ with that demon is hitting him so hard, but that is a stupid question, even in his mind. It's for the same reason as why he joined this expedition in the first place.

_She's not a blood mage_, he tells himself. _We've never seen her use blood magic. She just...and that demon...she_...

They keep walking, picking their way over uneven ground and through old passages, and they manage to avoid most battles. One or two profane decide to wander too close, and Hawke dispatches them without seeming to give it a second thought. Then again, none of them try to offer her anything.

Has he really misjudged her so badly?

It takes some time, but they eventually reach the area that the demon had told them of – at least, he _assumes_ it's the area. It wouldn't put it past a demon to lie.

But even as they walk forward, there's the sound of stone scraping upon stone, and a panicked moment where they all look behind them to see something – a _rock wraith_, Varric says – rising up behind them, like the demon they had seen before, like the profane, but _bigger_.

A _lot_ bigger.

"Oh, _Maker_, this is _not_ good," Hawke manages to say, before the creature strikes downward with the giant slab of stone that makes up one of its arms, missing her by inches. She staggers backwards, pulling her staff from her back as she does so. He sees her nearly trip over her own feet as she tries to move away.

The next strike sends both her and Varric sprawling.

"Not my _sister_, you _bastard!_"

Carver rushes past him, placing himself between his sister and the monstrosity, blade brought up to catch the next strike; his feet skitter across the ground as he tries to brace himself, the rock wraith's blow so hard that Anders can see the tremors run through the boy's arms.

And then there's no time to be angry at her, only time to move and to cast, sketching a glyph before him in the air, trying to buy them some time by paralyzing the wraith.

It shakes off the magic like it is nothing but air.

It's Carver who gives them all enough time to get to their feet, to move far enough out of range that he and Hawke have the time to cast properly, for Varric to take aim and fire. The boy strikes at the rock construct, chipping away at it's base. Its large stone talons swipe at him again and again, but he manages to avoid most.

Anders has never fought a creature like this before – never even _seen_ one. He thinks he remembers Sigrun mentioning the name – _rock wraith_ – before, some old dwarven myth used to scare children. He tries using ice – tries to slow its movements. Beside him, Hawke draws her staff through the air, a cage of white light forming around the wraith. It does little to stop it, but the combined spells slow it just enough that Carver has time to move away from it as it tries to hit him once more. He sweeps out with his sword and the wraith _crumbles_.

There's a moment where they all stare at it.

"Well," says Carver, breathing raggedly. "That wasn't too bad."

"I expected something more," Hawke says, taking a step toward her brother. And then she stops, eyes widening. "Carver, _move!_"

The wraith is not dead, not even close, and it coils in upon itself, rising up from the ground in a tight ball, light that is red like the strange lyrium that is all around them coalescing around it.

When it hits, none of them are ready.

It feels like his skin is one fire – something that has happened to him more times than he would like to admit, so he knows the comparison is sound – and his body bows forward, seeking some way out of the red light that fills the air. Pain covers every inch of him, but he looks up to see one of the pillars, and he thinks that the light doesn't reach there.

It hurts, but he moves, reaching behind him and grabbing Hawke by the arm and dragging her after him – Varric is too far from them, and Carver is caught in the thick of it – taking step after step until clear light breaks over his head and he stumbles forward, Hawke tumbling after him, crashing against his legs, and they slump against the cave wall.

"Carver!" she gasps out, pushing herself up, her hand pressing painfully into his midsection as she uses the leverage to get to her feet. "_Carver!"_

He catches her by the wrist before she can dash back out into the red light emitting from the rock wraith. "That's not going to help him, Hawke!"

"Let me _go! Carver!_"

It's the most panicked that he has ever seen her, and from where they stand he can see both Varric and Carver writhe within the light. Anders pulls himself to his feet, still holding her, still keeping her from doing something _incredibly_ stupid. But they're not going to make it, not if this doesn't stop, and he doesn't know if it will.

He gathers magic, directing it toward the two of them, and he can just see the healing glow that forms around them. It won't do much, but it _will_ help.

And then, as soon as it has started, the air clears and they can move freely.

"We _have_ to take that thing down quickly," Hawke yells to the others as she move out from behind the pillar.

"Do you have anything more obvious to say?" Varric says, his voice strained.

"Sister, we have _more_ company."

There are more of the profane around them and the rock wraith is moving again. Too many – but Hawke is moving with determination now, her magic dragging at the creatures and slowing their movements, allowing for Carver and the rest to take them down as fast as possible.

They figure out the signs that tell them that painful red light is about to appear again and they rush to hiding places in those moments, and Anders uses that time to heal them all as best he can. They are growing tired fast, but the rock wraith appears to be faltering more and more, and it is only a matter of time before it falls, Hawke's magic and Carver's sword finally bringing it down.

The world tilts rather hazily before his eyes when it is done, and he feels drained and fatigued, too much magic spent over too short a time period. But they are all still standing – well, Carver is _sitting_, but it is more to catch his breath than because he is terribly injured. Hawke crouches beside him and the boy doesn't shove her away.


End file.
